“Being a billionaire is so tacky” is the headline Lido Pimienta issued in a recent interview. The phrase neatly captures the stance of an artist who resists reducing her music to mere entertainment. Activism is an inseparable part of her work, even as some advise her to talk less about politics and simply showcase her extraordinary voice. Racism, colonialism, and misogyny occupy a central place in her songs, and Pimienta will keep using the microphone for as long as she has it to point out the injustices she perceives in the world, especially in her native Colombia.
‘Caribenya,’ her second album in the space of a year, ends with the declaration “I don’t want to leave my country.” Earlier, the bright dembow of “Marea” mocks colonialism and extractive tourism: “From where you come they only occupy and traffic / I have your love, I have your body, I have your love, I have your time.” The closing line, “Get out of my beautiful island,” sounds like a direct expulsion of those who turn the Caribbean into a consumable object and accelerate gentrification.
The record shifts from one track to another across this mini-EP of barely eight cuts. There is a palpable anger blended with humor in the cumbia “Tóxica,” dedicated to a industry friend who rejected the singer’s political stances, but there is also room for queer empowerment in the luminous “Libélula”—featuring Ana Macho and a pan flute—and in “Arrúllame,” which opens the album by resurrecting Owen Pallett’s strings, so decisive in “La belleza.”
The songs on “Caribenya” were written during the sessions for “La belleza,” though they form a clearly differentiated repertoire. Here, the orchestral language almost completely disappears in favor of a more domestic production. Pimienta began arranging them in the kitchen of her house, amid daily tasks like taking care of her children, driving them to school, or baking whatever was on hand. Later, producers such as Grupo Jejeje or Chancha Vía Circuito helped to develop them, with the artist herself involved in much of the process.
That method gives the album all of its spontaneity. It sometimes yields particularly lively pieces, such as the dancehall “Talento”; at other times, songs like the somber “Así nací,” with its strange childlike choirs, struggle to find a convincing form. Where that blend of artisanal process, political discourse, and communal sense reaches its best expression is in “Hoy por ti,” further propelled by a Nelly Furtado who brings the full, intact personality of her voice.
It is useful to understand “Caribenya” as a kind of footnote to “La belleza,” an album that, incidentally, anticipated the movement later popularized by Rosalía’s “Lux” through incorporating the language of classical music into pop. Yet “Caribenya” should also be understood as the closing chapter of Lido Pimienta’s time with Anti. After this release, the Colombian artist embarks on a new phase as an independent musician. And at this point, we already know that this appears to be the future.
